


Unto Heavens Unspanned

by Taisch



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Ancient History, Anti-Blue Fairy, Gen, The Steadfast Tin Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9557192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taisch/pseuds/Taisch
Summary: A wooden soldier swept up in the Blue Fairy's crusade is cast aside for his flaws. He is helpless to change his fate; she makes her own. Because destiny is a fickle beast, their paths eventually cross once more.Written for the Writers Anonymous Forum Alternate Format Challenge on fanfiction.net. (Unusual POV option)





	

I have always wanted to fly.

Flight, in Neverland, is a common gift: birds fly and fairies fly — even human children fly, in dreams touched by pixie dust. The Shadow races clouds across the sky, while bats and moths twist through the air, playing their games of life and death. Even my ephemeral companions, the leaves, are carried aloft by the wind. Yet here I stay, rooted to the trunk of a tree that is as much a part of this island as the cliffs and the caves beneath.

I wish that I could fly.

"Be careful what you wish for," the pixie flowers admonish me, thinking themselves wise in their restraint. Growing on the highest branches, they gather magic from starlight and infuse it into a sparkling dust that they never use on their own behalf. Pixie dust is the birthright of their children, the fairies. It sustains them as newborns and empowers them as adults. The pixie flowers take their parental role to heart, and by extension consider themselves elders to all the forest. "All wishes come with a price!"

So they say, and say again, but their words hold no more weight for their repetition. They may be afraid to be toppled from their perch, but I am not. Is there honor in accepting one's fate when one lacks the means to alter it? Maybe so. Or maybe such acceptance is empty pride and self-deceit. Either way, I hold to my wishes. They're all I have.

I wish that I could travel. Time means nothing, changes nothing, in this place. The children come and go, but I have seen the same sights since I awakened. It was carelessness that awoke me: a fairy's clumsy fingers spilling pixie dust onto the branch below. Ever since then, awareness has been a burden to me.

"The only journey you're likely to make is a quick fall to the ground," the pixie flowers say. "A storm — snap! Just like that, then nowhere to go but down. Termite food — that's all you'll be good for."

Nevertheless, I cling to my hopes. And the pixie flowers are proven wrong when it is not wind that takes me down but the little saw of a fairy known as Whittler Chime. She harvests my branch and carves it into twenty-five wooden soldiers. Alas, when she comes to the last soldier — that is, myself — her tired fingers slip, and my right arm breaks off at the shoulder. She wavers, almost casting me aside, but at the last moment she places me in a box along with my brothers and sisters, then gives us to a little boy.

He doesn't mind the flaw and sets me out along with the others in the sand, where he and another child line us up for battle. Today the children play on the beach. Tomorrow they run through the jungle. All the while, fairies dart among them, joining in their games and adventures. Fairy magic conjures foes and weaves illusions to the children's delight. Mysterious maps lead to treasure chests holding loot from distant realms. And so it goes.

Neverland is changeless, they say, but they are wrong. Change is in the air.

It begins with the Blue Fairy. She is the Original Power of the Night and thus leader of all the fairies, and she has a plan. I can see it in her. She is no more content to be trapped on this little island than I have ever been. No matter that she can fly, there is another sky beyond the one we see. She plans to travel _beyond_ , and she does not mean to go alone.

She gathers us all to tell us this. Two dozen children assemble on the white sands of the cove. By some magic, they have passed through the gate of dreams to stand in Neverland in the flesh. Their fairy companions form an indistinct swarm overhead, while the wooden army lies scattered in messy ranks around the children's feet. All eyes are turned upward to the Blue Fairy, who hovers in the air high above her followers. She promises a new adventure, bigger and more exciting than ever before.

"There is a new land, a land waiting for you, my children. In this land, you will all be kings and queens," says the Blue Fairy. A new land? I can only hope the children remember us, who have served them faithfully, and take us with them.

"Is it very far away?"

"Will we sail there on a pirate ship?"

"A portal shall be opened," says the Blue Fairy. "But you must believe. Do you believe in magic?"

"Yes!" shout the children in ragged unison. "Yes!"

"This land will be your new home," says the Blue Fairy. "As long as you remember to rule with wisdom and goodness in your hearts."

"Will we eat every day?"

"Will we have new coats?"

"Yes and yes," says the Blue Fairy. "You will have all that and more. Fine robes and royal feasts, soft beds and warm socks, everything you could ever need."

"Will we have castles? Will we have horses?" The children grow bolder with their wishes. "Will there be unicorns? Will there be tigers?"

We who cannot speak only wonder if, in this new land, they will spare any time for us. Do kings and queens play with humble wooden toys?

"It is a land full of wonderful things," says the Blue Fairy.

"Don't listen to her," cuts in a new voice. It is the Black Fairy, arriving late with a belly full of insubordination. She is the only fairy powerful enough to challenge Blue. "What is this, Blue? You dare desert your post?"

The other fairies flutter up in consternation, retreating behind Blue. They wait for their leader to deal with the latecomer. The children watch, their jaws agape, more curious than frightened.

"Think of it as moving on to a higher calling," says the Blue Fairy. "These children need our help, and we can give them far more than a few fleeting dreams."

"You have no right to steal them from their homes, their families," says the Black Fairy. She raises her wand in accusation. "Stop this madness!"

"They are orphans. Unwanted orphans with no homes or families." The Blue Fairy lifts her own wand, her gesture imbuing it with all the authority of a king's scepter. "I will give them the happiness they deserve!"

"And what of the land you propose to take them to? What of its current denizens?"

"They are heartless monsters, whose wars have wrought devastation on the land. Their claim is forfeit." The Blue Fairy glances down at the children. "We will bring light and love into a kingdom that has neither. For too long we have stood by while evil reigns unchecked. These children have the potential to be heroes."

"Or to be your pawns." The Black Fairy looks beyond the Blue Fairy to the others behind her. "You must know this is wrong."

"Enough of this." Blue calls out to the children, "The Black Fairy wants to take away your happy endings. Are we going to let her do that?"

"No!" they shout, and, "Never!"

Even I can feel the strength of their belief. That belief fuels the Blue Fairy's magic, and she snatches the wand from the Black Fairy's hand.

"You can't do this," says the Black Fairy, her voice rising in desperation. "If you all leave Neverland, who will stand against the Shadow?"

"The Shadow and I have come to an agreement," says the Blue Fairy. Even as she speaks, a dark shape swoops down from the sky and seizes the Black Fairy from behind. It is the Shadow — the Original Power of the Day! This alliance breaks all tradition, but I am not sorry. How long have I yearned, trapped in my mute immobility, for change? The Blue Fairy has done what I could not; the world will never be the same again. "As for you, I henceforth banish you. Leave this realm and never return!"

The Shadow bends in a motion suggestive of a bow, a glint of cruel irony in its glowing eyes, then rockets upward, its path tearing the sky open. For an instant, I glimpse strange stars shining through. Then the gap closes and both shadow and fairy are gone.

The children and the other fairies clap and cheer at the spectacle. The Blue Fairy, buoyed by their faith, gestures with her wand. A blazing circle forms all around us. It may be a portal, but rather than stepping through it, the magic takes us, ground and all, in a shower of sand and sparks, to the promised land.

* * *

The air is dry and cold. The sand brought over in our passage falls away to reveal hard ground, all rocks and churned up mud that has long since dried into jagged ridges and treacherous hollows. Trees lie on their sides, massive roots torn out of the earth.

It isn't dark here, after all. The sun is bright overhead, revealing the extent of the devastation around us. Somewhere, something is burning. This barren wasteland seems all the harsher by comparison to the verdant jungle of Neverland.

Some of the children begin to cry.

"Brave hearts, my children," says the Blue Fairy. "This land needs our help, as you can see."

But does it want our help? Through the earth, I can feel a distant rumble. Footsteps, perhaps, but what beast could have such a heavy tread? And so many. Too many to distinguish one from another.

"Monsters!" screams the keenest-eyed of the children. "Coming this way!"

"Shield and hold." The Blue Fairy's followers quickly obey her command. The smouldering circle left by the portal flares up again. The air shimmers in a dome around us — just in time for one of the "monsters" to run headlong into it. The creature bounces off the barrier with a loud thud. It is vaguely human-shaped, clad in crude rags, but many times the size and weight of a man. Its eyes glare into the shielded circle, and it tries once more to break through, but the fairy magic holds. The creature looses an enraged roar. The sound vibrates through the air and ground.

The children huddle together, paralyzed by fear.

Half a dozen more of the creatures join the first. Spreading around the circle, they determine its shape with heavy blows onto the invisible wall. One of them lobs a boulder at the swarm of fairies. It, too, bounces off the barrier. Instead of giving up, the others redouble their efforts. Some hurl rocks at the circle while others break off segments of tree trunks to ram the spell wall. The fairies push back, but their faces betray the effort required.

Only Blue holds herself apart. She turns to the children. "Now, dears, you must close your eyes and think very, very hard about the land we want this to be. Fields of grain, orchards with peaches and apples, pastures with spotted cows and fat ponies. Think!"

"B-but the monsters..."

"Think of them as a nightmare," says the Blue Fairy. "When you wake up, you will see that they're only animals. All kinds of animals, big and small. Think... think of sheep. Horses. Puppies. Kittens. Wild deer. Rabbits..."

The children scrunch up their faces, eyes tightly shut. Mostly. A few of them peek. The magical barrier continues to hold, but the endless thump-thump-thump of the monsters' assault is hard to ignore.

"If you believe, it can all come true." The Blue Fairy waves her wand. A silken bag the color of her dress appears in her hand. She flies upwards until the tip of her wand touches the top of the invisible wall shielding us. "Do you believe in magic? Clap if you believe in magic!"

They do. Hesitant at first, but gathering strength from each other, the children clap and shout and stamp their feet. It's almost enough to drown out the sound the monsters make. Trained in Neverland to _believe_ , the children have a magic of their own, a magic that the Blue Fairy can draw upon. She pours a glittering stream of dust from her bag. It blazes and vanishes before it hits the ground. From the tip of her wand, a thick violet cloud blossoms out, rolling down the outside of the spell barrier. It billows outwards in an accelerating wave of magic.

The monsters are swallowed by the cloud. Their attacks cease.

The magic keeps going, farther and farther, past the edge of my perception. As long as the dust pours from the Blue Fairy's bag, the spell continues. And it is more pixie dust than I ever imagined possible. She must have been hoarding it for centuries! I wonder what the pixie flowers would say to this. They'd disapprove, no doubt, but the Blue Fairy must be well used to ignoring their counsel.

By the time she is done, I can believe that her spell covered all the land and changed everything in it. Her audacity stuns me. The other fairies are too weary to comment, but I think they're a little shocked, too. The children, who have fewer expectations, take it all in stride. Already the bolder ones have ventured to the edge of the circle to gawk at the land beyond.

Where there were monsters, a herd of sheep now grazes, on grass newly sprouted from soil loosened and made fertile again. The air itself feels cleaner. A distant sound of trickling water can be heard.

"You did it," says the Blue Fairy. A hint of triumph makes it to her voice before she returns to her usual sweet tones. "We did it together. Here we will build new kingdoms of peace and love."

She is magnificent. And she isn't finished yet: a kingdom needs more than a king or queen — it needs its commoners. And here we are, ready to serve! An entire nation of wooden toys, brought through the portal along with the human children. The Blue Fairy didn't use up all her supply of pixie dust against the monsters; she saved a portion for us. The children bring us one by one to where she waits. With a touch of her wand, she transforms wood to flesh, each toy magically growing to human size in an instant. Etched lines become clothing, polished sticks become metal swords, and so it goes, each new man or woman outfitted as befits their station.

But when it is my turn, the wand hesitates, then draws back. The Blue Fairy shakes her head. "Not this one."

"Why not?" The boy who offers me up sounds bewildered at her refusal. He opens his fingers and rolls me around on his palm. "Can't you fix him?"

"I'm sorry. It would be cruel to bring him to life with one arm missing," says the Blue Fairy.

"But he can still be a good person, even with one arm," says the boy, in whose imagination I am a battle-scarred veteran, perhaps a little older than my brothers and sisters — who are now fully human. They are listening, I can tell, but they look away. None of them dare oppose the Blue Fairy. "He doesn't have to fight anymore."

She tilts her wand down again, but instead of transforming me, the tip traces out a glowing line down my torso. "It isn't only the arm. See, he is cracked through."

Cracked through. All my senses go numb as the truth of her words penetrates my thoughts. Flawed from the beginning. My wishes count for nothing, when my fate has always lain in the hands of others. The boy shuffles away as another child takes his place in the line. Other toys are brought to life, and I am quickly forgotten.

"Sorry, old chap." The boy grimaces and tosses me away with a jerk of his arm. He doesn't even watch as I bounce against a fallen tree and tumble into the dirt hollow beneath the roots.

It is night and day and night again by the time the Blue Fairy has completed her task. Guided by the lesser fairies, groups of newly made humans move away from the site of the portal.

When they are all gone, silence (or near enough) descends for the first time in days. I am left alone at last. This tree is no company — there is no magic in its heart. Its drying leaves rustle in the breeze, but the noise is devoid of meaning. Insects buzz and chirp, and I think of the fairies, but they have not returned.

"Well, well, well, it's just you and me now, eh?" The voice comes as a shock. Not that I show any reaction, even when a shadow falls over me. From its size and shape one might take it for one of the bigger children, but the voice is far too old. The hand that digs me out from the tangle of brush is thin and wizened, the nails long and claw-like. What does he want with me?

The creature stares into my face for a few moments. He runs his fingers along the length of my body, pausing at the rough stump and crack where my arm snapped off. "One man's trash is another man's treasure, isn't that so?"

Then he stuffs me head-down inside a pocket of his jacket. It is made from animal skins sewn together, and the pocket is dark, reeking of death and decay. After that, he scurries away. To where, I have no way of knowing. My heart sinks when I realize that he must be one of the monsters native to this land, somehow escaped from the Blue Fairy's spell.

When next I hear his voice, he is muttering and hissing to another, their voices both too low for me to make out the words. The back and forth of their exchange suggests an argument, or fierce haggling. Eventually, they settle the case, and my captor continues on. After awhile, he stops. And then—

"Goblin. You defile the hollow hills with your presence." This new voice is cold and clear, pitched ambiguously between man and woman. The resonance suggests that we are now in some large, hard-walled chamber.

"Your majesty, forgive." My captor drops to his knees. "In times like this, can't we set aside old grudges?"

"And what 'times' would this be?"

"Invasion! You can't imagine their power." And jammed into his pocket as I am, I clearly feel my captor's horrified shudder. "Everyone above ground was caught by their spell. How long have your people been fighting the ogres, your majesty? And now they're wiped out in a day."

"And yet you alone survived? How?"

"Luck. I happened to be inside the protected circle when the demons cast their spell."

"And now you are here. Why?"

"Sanctuary, your majesty. Please, I'm begging you. In return—" Clawed fingers fumble in the pocket, tugging me free. "I've brought you a prisoner. One of _them_."

The king (if it is a king) looks down at me from a throne of pale, intricately carved wood. His (her?) face could almost be human, except for the unnatural perfection of the elegant features. He (if it is a he) narrows his eyes. "A poor broken thing. How could such as _this_ evoke such dreadful power?"

"Broken, aye, and thus discarded. But it comes from _their_   land, and is touched by _their_ magic, at least a little of it."

"Yes. That's worth something." A flick of his fingers, and I find myself in new hands. "Very well. Speak to the guardian of the gate. Tell her you have my protection, for now."

"Thank you, your majesty!" My erstwhile captor scampers away again into some dark tunnel.

The king does not deign to question me aloud. His magic is sufficient interrogation, telling him all I know within the space of a breath. Then I find myself passed from hand to hand for his counselors to study.

"Invaders," says the king. "Dangerous ones. We will watch. We will listen. And we will learn their weaknesses. We have fought the ogres too long to lose Misthaven to strangers!"

Once there is no more to be learned from me, the king has no more use for me than the Blue Fairy did. I find myself dropped down a crevice at the far edge of the caves where these creatures made their homes. Water swallows me up at the end of my fall, and an underground stream carries me into utter darkness. Before I ever reach light again, a current drags me spinning into the bottom. My feet snag between rocks, the current wedging me ever more tightly.

And there must I stay.

* * *

Days pass unmarked. Weeks. Months. Years. In the dark and the cold, even my dreams blur and fade. There is nothing left for me but to meditate on the futility of wishes.

Sometimes I wonder about the Blue Fairy. Is she content in this new land of hers? The children must be grown, with children and grandchildren of their own. And what of my brothers and sisters? Are their new lives all that they hoped for? Perhaps they are all dead by now. Do their kingdoms still stand?

In the darkness, my imagination fails me. I no longer remember any of their faces. Only magic endures, the legacy of the pixie flowers' unintended gift to me. Magic endures, so I endure.

Years. Decades. A century, perhaps more. Drowned, forgotten.

Until the rocks shift. The current changes. An earthquake? A storm? A flood? All I know is that the water rips me free as easily as it once buried me, and I am rushing downstream once again. I catch one brief glimpse of light before my journey ends in the jaws of a monstrous catfish.

I tumble down its gullet into a soft, slimy chamber. Bewildered, I wonder if fish make a habit of swallowing pieces of wood.

"Only ones that smell of magic," a voice says from behind me. It doesn't speak aloud, but rather in the manner of the pixie flowers and other magical things. "This fish feeds on it."

Feeds on magic?

"Oh, aye. It drains the magic from us drop by drop. And when it's all gone — why, then, oblivion, my lad!" It's too dark to see the speaker, but there's a metallic quality in the voice.

Oblivion. That's something to hope for, I suppose.

"But don't worry, that won't happen to us."

I wonder how it can be so sure.

"Because I'm far too valuable," boasts my companion.

Valuable? Perhaps a weapon? Or a piece of jewelry?

"Wait and see!" The voice bursts out laughing. "'See'. Oh, that's good." It cackles to itself, much to my confusion.

I wait. My companion is proved right, up to a point, when the fish is caught and sliced open. I have no time to see anything at all before the guts are scooped out and tossed into a midden heap and I am buried in a stinking mass of discarded animal parts and rotting vegetables. I can't say that this is much of an improvement.

"Just you wait," mutters my companion, who, being smaller, has fallen deeper into the refuse.

Later, in the night, someone rakes through the midden heap. I find myself tugged free, held upside down and shaken, then wiped with a piece of cloth.

"What's this?" It is too dark to see the face, but the voice is familiar. "Well, well, well, fancy meeting you here, after all this time."

It is the same goblin who found me before. He chuckles and stuffs me in a pocket, this time turning me right side up, so that I can peek out over the top. "That'll be the fates, eh? Giving you a chance to see what's happened to your many-times-great-grand- nieces and nephews."

So, then. The goblin is likely immortal, but my kin must have become true humans. _How long has it been?_

The goblin cares nothing for my questions. He picks through the mess spread out on the ground and comes up with some small object. He cleans it and holds it up to gleam in the moonlight. A ring. "Ah, as good as new. Careless of them to lose you. Never mind. Come with me and we'll see how his majesty's other 'gift' fares with these invaders."

He slips on the ring and makes his way into the house. It's big, maybe even a manor, and I am glad that my kin have prospered.

"It's not their house," whispers the goblin."Naughty, naughty — they've seized it from the lord. Beaten him to within an inch of his life and sent him packing... would you see how they celebrated, your kin?"

The ring's magic takes us a step out of time. The hours slip back, and it is earlier in the evening. The great hall is awash in light, the walls throbbing with the drunken clamor of the crowd that has gathered for their feast. The goblin strides boldly to the table and reaches out for a piece of bread, but his fingers close on nothing.

"We're not here," the ring tells me. "No one can see or hear us."

But this is what really happened?

"Look, they've raided the lord's cellars. Never have they tasted such richness, nor ever will again. They've damned themselves, the fools. When the lord comes back, it'll be with an army of knights at his back." The goblin shakes his head. "And these are but peasants, for all that one has gained an enchanted sword."

I see the sword, sheathed in a plain leather scabbard. The fierce-eyed woman sitting at the head of the table keeps one hand always gripped around it.

"Look at them. They know. She let the lord go on purpose. Their grievance is with the king. She thinks to draw him here and challenge him," the goblin says.

Challenge him? When she has a magic sword? At first I am disappointed that my kin have so little honor, but then I remember that unlike me, these were not carved as soldiers. These were born to be laborers, with no wealth or leisure to train as a warrior.

"But the king won't accept a challenge from a commoner," the goblin says. "I think she knows that, too." As we watch, the woman stands up, lifting the sword to focus their attention. "No matter how many rousing speeches she gives. And this may be the last."

It is freedom they want. Equality for those born of wood. That is the essence of her speech. That they are not less for being what they are.

"He's been watching them," the ring confides. "Stirring things up. But I think he's grown fond of the silly doomed wretches."

"Outlaws, the lot of them," the goblin grumbles. A hint of admiration lurks beneath his disdain. "She's been in the stocks for sedition three times, and the last time, the lord had her flogged on top of that. But she's a persistent one, her. All this talk of a 'freehold', now, and getting the village to secede from the kingdom. _That_ won't go down well."

I imagine not. I remember the strictness of the Blue Fairy's rule. Her proteges will be no different. A place for everything and everything in its place — that was always her ideal of harmony.

The goblin lingers in the great hall, walking all around the table until we stand next to the woman with the sword. We listen as she offers her people one last chance to leave, to get out before the king's forces arrive. No one moves.

"Ah, loyalty," the goblin sighs, and I feel a twinge of pride at my kinfolk. "It will be the death of them."

Then the woman singles out the youngest of the gathering, a mere boy. She speaks to him and sends him away in tears.

"So that they will be remembered," says the goblin. "No matter what happens."

Magic takes us forward. The goblin steps through the hours and the walls. He finds a roost atop the gatehouse roof, from where we can see both the manor courtyard and the road from the village. The sun rises, either in the past or the future — I can only guess at when our proper time is. The rebels bar the gate and gather in the courtyard, arming themselves with axes, scythes, and makeshift spears.

But the king's army, arriving in a thunder of heavy horses and armored knights, stops short of the gate and makes no attempt to enter. They and their own retinue of archers and spear men surround the manor. As the goblin predicted, the leader of the rebels makes her challenge. And as predicted, the king refuses, countering with a demand to surrender. She, too, refuses.

"Let them try," she says, unsheathing her enchanted sword. "No one can defeat us in battle as long as I hold this! Not even those cursed half-bloods."

"Traitors." The other rebels spit into the dirt at the mention of 'half-bloods'.

Half-bloods?

"The knights," says the ring. "That's what they call them. They trace half their ancestry back to the original humans."

But the knights are not here to fight. There is no battle. The rebels are destroyed not by swords, but by fire.

Fire.

The lord's manor is more wood than stone, and the king's army easily sets it alight, while blocking every avenue of escape. Kept safe by a barrier of time, we watch as the king's forces bombard the courtyard with fiery missiles, driving the rebels to take shelter inside. Flames take the walls, the roof. In the end, there is no safety even in the deepest cellar, not once the wooden floor above catches on fire. Those not killed by the smoke die from the heat. All except for one: the leader is dead with her throat cut open by her own blade. Damn the goblin for invading this, their last retreat. The flames scorch their bodies, and I can almost feel the heat seeping through the ring's magic.

"Well, well, well. Taste that?" The goblin coughs and clears his throat. "That's a dying curse. Good for her!"

Time parts for us, just long enough for the goblin to pluck the sword from the dead grip. He wraps it in a sack and thrusts it through his own belt. The goblin clambers free of the burning wreckage of the manor. As he scrambles over a fallen beam, I drop headfirst out of his pocket. He picks me up from the ground and looks at my face.

"What's this? Tears? Surely not!" He brushes the dampness from my cheeks.

It's only moisture drawn out by the heat of the fire. Isn't it?

"Do you grieve for your kinsfolk? You never even knew them," the goblin says.

I didn't. And yet I do grieve.

"Idiot! Join them on their funeral pyre, then." And he flings me right into the hottest flames.

No longer protected by the ring's magic, I am instantly consumed. As smoke, I rise into the sky. The goblin is nowhere to be seen. There is only the dark circle of the king's army all around the burning house. Banners and colorfully uniformed footmen mark the place where the king himself watches from a safe distance away. From the sky, a speck of light swoops down towards the banner.

It is the Blue Fairy. I hear her cry out in horror, "What have you done?"

Far too late to change the outcome, she brings nothing but toothless reprimands for the king. Unlike the obedient children of old, he grants her only the minimum of respect while he ignores her advice. The wind carries me higher, then, and I can listen no further.

So it's come to this.

I cannot help but pity the Blue Fairy, whose dreams of a perfect empire have gone up in smoke. She had forgotten the oldest rule of Neverland: a dream is always a nightmare when looked at from the other side. This bitter awakening was inevitable from the moment her ambitions brought her to invade a new world.

But it no longer matters to me. My wishes, too, have gone up in smoke. Yet it is all that I have ever desired — endless flight on the upper winds, drifting across the world until the last of the magic dissipates and I am finally undone.

It is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I turned the steadfast tin soldier into wood, to go with the Neverland jungle aesthetic. And the paper ballerina is only metaphorically embodied in the Blue Fairy. The inspiration for her mass polymorph WMD came from the "Samwise the Strong" ("The gardens of my delight!") segment from the Rankin-Bass animated "Return of the King." (You can watch it on youtube. Go on. I dare you!) The title of the story is taken from Clark Ashton Smith's poem "A Vision of Lucifer".


End file.
